Boundaries for the Heavy Laden
Pardon me while I vent….
What is it with men and sharing?! Not once but twice today I have encountered a man that had to stop and tell me all about his stomach issues.
My boss called in this morning and announced he has been “stopped up” for 3 days and of course I assumed he had a cold. I said, “Well, you sound like you may be feeling better.”
Big mistake!
He replied, “I am constipated. I have taken several laxatives and they are not working. Next step is an enema. That’s what happens to you when you get old.”
I just told him I hoped he felt better and “Uh, Bye!”
Not long after that a client comes in and decides to explain that he went to college with my boss and has know him since then. He then proceeded to share that “he had lost 100 pounds since college and that he had Irritable Bowel Syndrome. The reason he had to reschedule his previous appointment was because he could not go too far from the bathroom?”
Okay men, this is too much information! Women talk a lot but not about that kind of stuff. No stranger really wants to know how you are constipated, plans for an enema, have diarrhea, gas or any other sort of anything that has to do with your lower body parts. That is between you, your doctor and maybe your wife or mother but most certainly not any other female on earth!
Is this a college thing or just a man thing? If anyone knows the answer to that; please let me know!
Now don’t get me wrong, I am very aware of the passage of scripture from Matthew 11:28,30 Come unto me, all that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. ... For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
But I also know the Father said that and even though I am made in His image I am not there yet! There are boundaries for the heavy laden. Ya know what I mean?
Loving you with the Love of Christ,
Nelle
September 29, 2009
EDITOR'S NOTE: Tell your mother, guys, or the greeter at Wal-Mart; your wife doesn't want to know either. Nor will this wife administer an enema.
Showing posts with label Get Over It. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Get Over It. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Get Over Your Gosselin Hair
There was an incident this morning which reminded me that I am not the only one feeling undone by life and other people's reactions to it.
For example, the other Vivian had just posted a note to her Facebook condemning posers with Gosselin hair who have no real credentials to back up their snobbishness. Or snobbery, whatever. She and I have embarked upon a "fitness program" involving break-of-dawn cardio walks around her semi-upscale development.
Having harshly criticized "posers" on her Facebook page, we left the house this morning for our cardio walk. Whereupon we discovered that, in anticipation of an overnight rainstorm, he who must be obeyed had covered his convertible with the tarp from their Seadoo. And he had fastened this tarp to the car in a very redneck way, with some sort of bungee cords, which greatly embarrassed La Vivian. (I am the humble one. Jussayin.)
It looked odd, but was no skin off my nose, so we stretched and I told her to get over it. Vivi said, "I cannot simply get over it. It looks janky." She was grouchy at me all two miles of speed walking, due to my failure to empathize with he who's jankiness.
My point was that she had condemned--in a very public way--superficial people who do not, in actual fact, belong to the Junior League, nor are they actual card-carrying members of DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution). And yet she felt the right to be all lofty about a car wrapped securely in a boat tarp. What's the big deal?
We cardio-trudged for four blocks in silence, hostility radiating from her body, until at last she said, "The tarp says Seadoo on it."
I gave her a shrug and palms up. (Words were not an option at that point; this was serious exercise.)
Vivian's eyes filled with tears as she reminded me, and the solitary neighbor woman pruning some butterfly bushes, that her family's Seadoo is an actual "multi-passenger-bearing watercraft, and not a motorcycle thing on floats."
Bottom line: we each have showdog hair, in some area of our lives. Either own it and represent in a genuine way, or shave your head. (Your own personal Yoda.)
Respectfully submitted,
Vivian Carter
For example, the other Vivian had just posted a note to her Facebook condemning posers with Gosselin hair who have no real credentials to back up their snobbishness. Or snobbery, whatever. She and I have embarked upon a "fitness program" involving break-of-dawn cardio walks around her semi-upscale development.
Having harshly criticized "posers" on her Facebook page, we left the house this morning for our cardio walk. Whereupon we discovered that, in anticipation of an overnight rainstorm, he who must be obeyed had covered his convertible with the tarp from their Seadoo. And he had fastened this tarp to the car in a very redneck way, with some sort of bungee cords, which greatly embarrassed La Vivian. (I am the humble one. Jussayin.)
It looked odd, but was no skin off my nose, so we stretched and I told her to get over it. Vivi said, "I cannot simply get over it. It looks janky." She was grouchy at me all two miles of speed walking, due to my failure to empathize with he who's jankiness.
My point was that she had condemned--in a very public way--superficial people who do not, in actual fact, belong to the Junior League, nor are they actual card-carrying members of DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution). And yet she felt the right to be all lofty about a car wrapped securely in a boat tarp. What's the big deal?
We cardio-trudged for four blocks in silence, hostility radiating from her body, until at last she said, "The tarp says Seadoo on it."
I gave her a shrug and palms up. (Words were not an option at that point; this was serious exercise.)
Vivian's eyes filled with tears as she reminded me, and the solitary neighbor woman pruning some butterfly bushes, that her family's Seadoo is an actual "multi-passenger-bearing watercraft, and not a motorcycle thing on floats."
Bottom line: we each have showdog hair, in some area of our lives. Either own it and represent in a genuine way, or shave your head. (Your own personal Yoda.)
Respectfully submitted,
Vivian Carter
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